With Robert Eggers’ eagerly awaited Nosferatu remake on the verge of release, there’s no better moment to revisit the 1922 classic. This silent masterpiece not only redefined horror cinema, but also survived legal battles and near obliteration to claim its legendary status. Its story, as dramatic as the film itself, underscores its place in cinematic history.
To truly appreciate its lasting influence, we’ve placed the entire film for you to watch above! Eggers, celebrated for The Witch and The Lighthouse, has often spoken about how the original inspired him, serving as both a creative touchstone and a pivotal reimagining of the vampire mythos.
Read on for a glimpse into the fascinating tale behind this pioneering film.
A Bold Vision with a Big Problem
The idea for Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror came from Albin Grau, a producer with a deep interest in the occult. He co-founded Prana Film in Germany and envisioned a vampire movie steeped in mysticism and dread. To make his dream a reality, Grau teamed up with director F.W. Murnau and writer Henrik Galeen, and the trio turned to Bram Stoker’s Dracula for inspiration. The problem? They didn’t secure the rights.
They made a few surface-level changes—Dracula became the grotesque Count Orlok, Jonathan Harker became Thomas Hutter, and the action shifted to the fictional town of Wisborg. But the story was still unmistakably Dracula. While they might have hoped no one would notice, it didn’t take long for word to get back to someone who cared very much about such things: Florence Stoker.
Florence Stoker Enters the Scene
Florence Stoker, Bram’s widow, had become the fierce protector of her late husband’s work. By the early 1920s, Dracula wasn’t just a novel; it was Florence’s primary source of income. While the book hadn’t been a massive hit during Bram’s lifetime, it was growing in popularity, especially on stage. To Florence, the emergence of Nosferatu as an unauthorised adaptation wasn’t just offensive—it was a direct threat to her financial security.
She discovered the film through a tip-off: an anonymous letter with a programme from the Berlin premiere, which openly declared Nosferatu was “freely adapted” from Bram Stoker’s work. Furious, she enlisted the help of the British Incorporated Society of Authors to launch a legal battle in Germany.
The Fight Begins
The lawsuit was a success. Florence’s legal team argued that Nosferatu blatantly copied Dracula, and the German courts agreed. Prana Film, already struggling financially, declared bankruptcy before the case could progress further. Florence wasn’t content with that outcome. She turned her attention to distributors and screenings, determined to stamp out the film entirely.
In 1925, Florence secured a significant legal victory: a German court ordered all existing copies of Nosferatu to be confiscated and destroyed. It was a groundbreaking ruling for copyright law and a triumph for Florence. But it didn’t end there.
A Game of Hide-and-Seek
Despite the court’s order, Nosferatu refused to go quietly. Several prints had already been shipped abroad, escaping German authorities. These rogue copies began circulating in France, Hungary, and even the United States. Florence spent years chasing down these bootleg prints, filing additional lawsuits wherever the film appeared. She even managed to halt screenings in London and New York.
But for every copy she destroyed, another seemed to surface. Distributors used aliases and altered titles to disguise the film. In one case, it was even marketed as Dracula in the U.S., adding to Florence’s frustration. The harder she fought, the more elusive the film became.
The Unintended Consequences
Florence’s campaign to destroy Nosferatu had an unintended side effect: it made the film notorious. The legal battle became a story in itself, and cinephiles began seeking out the forbidden movie. By the late 1920s, Nosferatu was gaining a cult following. What could have been a forgotten relic instead became a legend.
By the 1930s, Nosferatu was being rediscovered and celebrated as a masterpiece of early cinema. Restorations and re-releases followed, and the film’s influence spread.
Ironically, Florence’s fight against Nosferatu ensured it wouldn’t be ignored. Her legal battle brought the film into the spotlight, turning it into a touchstone of early horror cinema. Though she may have failed to erase it, she may have helped in getting the world to take notice.
The Film That Refused to Die
Legal issues aside, a major aspect of the film’s enduring appeal lies in its artistry. Murnau’s use of natural settings and shadowy lighting created a haunting atmosphere that felt both real and dreamlike. Max Schreck’s portrayal of Count Orlok, with his claw-like hands and rodent-like teeth, brought an almost primal terror to the screen. Orlok wasn’t a suave seducer like later cinematic vampires—he was death itself, creeping ever closer.
A century later, Nosferatu stands as a testament to the resilience of art—and the unpredictability of history. Legal battles, financial ruin, and destruction orders couldn’t stop Count Orlok. As Eggers prepares to reimagine the tale for a new audience, the legacy of the original reminds us of one simple truth: some stories—and some shadows—are impossible to extinguish.
